Ornstein and Smough's Big Lordran Adventure
by Dark Novelist
Summary: Dragonslayer Ornstein, Executioner Smough. The deadly pair have always faithfully served as the defenders of Anor Londo and the lovely Gwynevere. But, what is the point of this endless struggle? Always being a stepping stone for the chosen undead? Or...is it all just a lie? What happens when the two golden warriors take up the chosen undead's role for themselves? Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Revelation**

* * *

The Dragonslayer stood atop his perch in the grand cathedral of Anor Londo, staring down at the white light that served as the entrance to him and his partner in thought. For many lifetimes, for countless cycles has this been their duty. The Dragonslayer Ornstein, and the Executioner Smough, eternally cast as the last trial between the Chosen Undead and their princess, the beautiful Gwynevere. Every time, they would strike down the Chosen Undead again and again, for those who bare the darksign do not know true death, until at last he or she would strike them down, and continue on their quest to link the fire, thus continuing the age of fire. Ornstein sighed and turned back to the large double doors leading to his charge.

"And every time, you greet them with a smile that never fades, and bestow upon them that which they need to continue their quest." He whispered to himself.

Many times, he had considered going through those doors, and speaking to the woman he and his partner protected. Perhaps then some sort of enlightenment could be found to make this arduous and eternal task seem more worthwhile. But every time, his musings had been interrupted by the appearance of the Chosen Undead, and his duty overtook him. He then turned back to his partner, standing idly with a hand resting on his enormous hammer at his post, as per usual. The Dragonslayer envied him sometimes. While the bloodlust and brutality of Smough did in fact disturb him, it might have been that exact tasteless disregard for lives that allowed the Executioner to carry on with his duty, unhindered and blissfully ignorant of any higher callings that might befall the two of them. As if sensing the unease in his smaller partner, Smough turned upward towards him.

"Is something troubling you, my friend?" he asked. "If so, do not worry. I know the world has only just reset itself, but I'm sure the Chosen Undead will make their way here sooner or later. That way you'll just have to worry about where you thrust that spear of yours."

The Dragonslayer was about to sigh at having his thoughts confirmed, when something caught his attention. The world had only just reset. There was still a substantial amount of time before the enemy arrived. Before he could give Smough a reply, the Dragonslayer strode over to the doors to Gwynevere's chambers. If ever he was to obtain the closure he craved, now would be as opportune a chance as it could be. So, without a moment's hesitation, the Dragonslayer took a deep breath, and pushed open the doors. Inside, as he expected, was the giantess that was Anor Londo's goddess, Gwynevere, resting upon a likewise giant mattress and pillow. The Queen of Sunlight smiled ever so warmly down at her protector as he approached and knelt a few paces from the base of the stairs leading up to her.

"O your majesty, I know that I am not the visitor you may be expecting, but I must speak to thee." The Dragonslayer began humbly.

"For many long years, I have served as thy guardian, and yet I have always been struck down along the Chosen Undead's path to reach you. Please, if your majesty permit it, tell me what the meaning behind this all is? Why must my companion and I sacrifice ourselves for you, time and again, only to be resurrected in an endless cycle?"

Having said his piece, he awaited the response of his charge. What he heard next, however, was not at all what the Dragonslayer could have ever expected.

" _Thou hast journeyed far, and overcome much, Chosen Undead…."_ Spoke the queen in her gentle, almost angelic voice.

But the gentleness of his charge's tone was the least of the Dragonslayer's concern as he rose his head in shock.

"Y-Your majesty?! What are you saying? It is I, Ornstein!"

His words fell upon deaf ears, as the still smiling Gwynevere continued.

" _O Chosen Undead…I am Gwynevere, daughter of Lord Gwyn, and Queen of Sunlight. Since the day father, his form did obscureth, I have awaited thee."_

"But I am not the Chosen Undead! I am your guardian!"

" _I bequeath the Lordvessel unto thee."_

At the queen's words, the Dragonslayer watched as the Lordvessel, the essential artifact of power that those who come to Anor Londo seek, appeared before him. He had little time to do more than stutter in disbelief before the seemingly oblivious queen spoke once more.

" _And beseech thee, succeed Lord Gwyn, and inheriteth the fire of our world. Thou shall endeth this eternal twilight, and avert further undead sacrifices."_

Outraged and confused, the Dragonslayer stood.

"What madness do you speak of? What eternal twilight? Why dost thou not recognize thine defender? I am not the Chosen Undead! I am Ornstein! What is the meaning of this?!"

All he received in response was Gwynevere's permanent smile. Frustrated and unable to think rationally, the Dragonslayer pointed his mighty spear at the queen.

"ANSWER ME!" he cried, at that moment loosing a small bolt of golden lightning.

The attack had not been fully intended, but by the time he realized his error the bolt had struck the queen's shoulder. Right before his eyes, the Dragonslayer saw his charge cry out in pain, seconds before vanishing away. Unsure what to make of this, he stuttered out.

"Your….majesty….?"

Al at once, the sky around Anor Londo quickly darkened, and by association so too did the formerly sunlit room in which stood the dumbfounded Dragonslayer. However, the eerie silence that had developed through the transition was soon shattered by a new, more contemptuous voice.

" **What heresy is this, O proud Dragonslayer? Thou hath tarnisheth the godmother's image…yet this was not thine duty…nor thine intention…"**

Though he rarely saw its owner, if ever, the Dragonslayer recognized the voice of Anor Londo's other resident god instantly.

"Master Gwyndolin…this…is your work? Lady Gwynevere-"

" **Gone. In a land far, far from our own. What thou see now is the truth…the naked face of our accursed Anor Londo."**

Slowly, the machinations and lies around him began to connect in the Dragonslayer's head.

"…..I see…..I….I understand now….this…all of this….the princess….our kingdom…my purpose…it was all merely an illusion orchestrated by you and your father, wasn't it?"

The darkmoon deity said nothing.

"My companion and I…our duty was nothing more than a lie….merely pawns in your game…"

" **You have overstepped your boundaries, Dragonslayer. You were never meant to-"**

"To think? To deviate from my duty? To know the truth of your wretched deceit? Well, Dark Sun, is that it?"

The deity in question seemed to have decided to try and play to what little power he may have left over the Dragonslayer.

" **Choose thine next course of action with care, Ornstein. Thou may yet save thine post if thou should remain as thou were before this…incident. If not…then rest assured thou shalt perish in the eternal twilight of Anor Londo…"**

At this, Gwyndolin said no more. As for the Dragonslayer, his mind was already clear on what course of action he would take. The only uncertainty he held was with his companion. Knowing that the Executioner was most likely just as shocked as himself, he walked over to the balcony overlooking the now dimly lit cathedral hall, and leapt down to his comrade. As suspected, the Executioner was in disarray at the sudden change to his surroundings, clutching his massive hammer tightly.

"Ornstein, what devilry is this?! What has become of our city?"

In a tone as solemn and dark as the lion visage upon his helm, the Dragonslayer approached his friend and answered.

"We have been made fools of, old friend. Gwyndolin, the god of Darkmoon, has been using us all along as pawns in the grand scheme of the Chosen Undead's destiny, in league with our withered lord Gwyn and his fellows to forever continue the cycle that binds us. All these years…and only now is the truth laid bare…"

The Executioner, for his part, understood fully the depth of his ally's words. However, for a simple minded being such as himself, one implication of their newfound situation stood out above the rest. Freedom. They were free to leave the church if they so dared, even if doing so meant having to face what few guardians remained in Anor Londo, to say nothing of the perils outside the city. They were free…to fight and kill as they so pleased. Could he have been seen beneath his armor, the Executioner's wicked smile would terrify even his old friend in its resemblance to that of the mask upon his face.

"I…I see…then, what do you propose we do, old friend?"

It took mere seconds for the Dragonslayer to reply.

"We end this cycle, once and for all. We will take up the mantle the Chosen Undead once carried, we shall do what we must to reach our once great lord, and then…we shall end him for his treachery and greed. However, I believe that you will agree there is a matter here that must first be resolved…."

The Dragonslayer directed his spear at the doors to the great hall outside their chamber.

"The Dark Sun, Gwyndolin, shall be the first to taste our wrath."

The Executioner couldn't help but chuckle at the unusual dark resolution in his ally's tone.

"Very well then. Let us be on our way, old friend."

And so, for the first time in centuries, the two golden champions of Anor Londo stepped out of the cathedral. Immediately, they were met by a pair of Gwyndolin's loyal Darkmoon soldiers, both clad in the lighter and heavier armors of knights from the kingdom of Balder respectively. However, even with their strong armor and deadly weapons, they were still merely humans. The lighter of the two soon met his end on the tip of the Dragonslayer's spear, while a large smear of blood and metal was all that remained of the more heavily armored knight after the Executioner's hammer found its mark. Without sparring a moment, the deadly pair marched over the remains of their foes and over to the massive double doors on the opposite end of the great hall. With a simple turn of the lever adjacent to the large gateway, the doors lurched open, allowing the pair access to the walkway connecting the hall to the central rotating platform the Chosen Undead would normally utilize to reach either the cathedral or the giant church to its right. Awaiting them at the end of the walkway, clad in her brass mail, was none other than Gwyndolin's most devout follower, the Lady of the Darkling.

"You two vile fools, you would dare to lay your hands upon a deity?" the lady snarled as she drew her estoc.

"Such bitter arrogance…I will punish you myself."

Further attesting to her lack of fear of the two large golden warriors, the lady then adorned her blade with a shining pale blue sheen of light, strengthening the weapon with a coat of magic. The Executioner merely scoffed at the female knight's actions.

"You may think yourself brave, little one…but you reek of foolishness."

He taunted, shortly before bringing his large hammer toward the lady. Smarter, and lighter than her cohorts, the lady swiftly dodged the strike, along with the blow that came after it. Unfortunately, her skill was soon overshadowed by her carelessness in doing so, for now there was no more room for her to go, with the just over waist high railing now at her back. In a desperate attempt, the lady charged forth toward the Executioner, sword first. But it was in vain, for no sooner had she done so than a large bolt of lightning summoned from the Dragonslayer's spear struck against her side, the impact sending her rolling into the railing once more. By the time the lady lifted her head, the very same spear was soaring towards her chest, penetrating it with a grotesque _schink_. Knowing the wound to be fatal, and feeling precious blood begin to quickly flee her body, the lady slumped over in resolution.

"Forgive me…master…Gwyndolin…" she whispered as she breathed her last.

The Dragonslayer retrieved his weapon from her body, staring down at it not in hate, but in pity. _Just as we perished for our devotion to our goddess, so you perish in your devotion to your god._ He thought. Silently praying that the foolish woman find peace in her next life, the Dragonslayer and his companion continued on. Turning the wheel affixed to the center of the rotating platform in the proper direction, the pair soon made their way into the honorary tomb of their former lord, where the Dark Sun resided. Gwyndolin's lair was quickly identified by the white fog serving as the doorway to the inner tomb, a sight the pair had grown long accustomed to staring at in their own domain. Gripping their weapons tightly with thoughts of vengeance in their minds, the pair stepped one after the other through the fog wall. Instantly, the god of Darkmoon appeared before them in feminine garb, an assortment of long and writhing serpents flowing out from under his robes.

" **Thou tarnisheth the godmother's image, now thou wouldst defile the tomb of the great lord? How far thou hath fallen…"** he spat from behind the visage of his sun shaped crown.

" **Very well! Then let thy atonement commence!"**

At Gwyndolin's command, the length of the hall leading to the inner tomb grew to ten times its previous length, just before the Dark Sun himself drew forth his scepter to transport himself further into it, out of reach of the fallen guardians. The Dragonslayer snarled, mentally roaring of the supposed god's cowardice before being forced to move himself behind one of the many pillars bordering the hall as a large blast of magic was flung his way. The Executioner, however, being the behemoth he was could only just fit himself into the hall, with no way of using its natural barriers to shield himself. Thinking quickly, the massive man drew his equally massive hammer in front of himself, blocking further passage of the magic blast, and letting it burst harmlessly against his weapon. Seeing his companion now had a means to defend himself, the Dragonslayer quickly dashed to behind a pillar on the opposite side of the hall, but slightly further down. Slowly, the pair made their way to the Dark Sun, blocking and dodging all manner of magic flung at them from their foe, in addition to the lethal arrows fired from his enchanted bow. Eventually they caught up to where Gwyndolin had rooted himself, and lashed out with fury. Quickly, the Dark Sun drew his scepter in an attempt to warp out of harm's way once more, but could not do so before a deep gash had been made in his side.

"For a god, you do not appear to be as fearsome as you would have others think!" the Dragonslayer taunted upon seeing his enemy visibly react to the injury.

The Dark Sun grit his teeth in rising anger, knowing he had little time to tend to the injury and resumed his barrage of spells and arrows. Just as before, the pair would make their way to him, and strike when he tried to flee further back. After about three repetitions, Gwyndolin could feel his life nearing its end. An end, he found, which came in the form of an incredibly obese golden warrior charging toward him with a massive hammer and ramming it straight into his fragile form. Unable to fight on, much less move his body after sustaining so many blows from such powerful opponents, the Dark Sun lifted his head from his fallen crown to glare one final time at the two who had betrayed him.

" **O….heretics….swathed….in dark…an…eternal curse…upon…thee…"**

He glared as hard as he could for a few moments longer, until his body succumbed to the pain, and went limp before vanishing away soon after. The Dragonslayer and Executioner stared proudly at the spot where the deity fell. Today, they had earned a victory not for their land, not for their princess, but for themselves. And both knew, with both violent glee and stern resolution…

…this was merely the beginning of their new quest.

* * *

 **To Be Continued…**

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! Hope you enjoyed this little number. I know some of you are probably wanting me to get started on chapter 3 of a story I'm ALREADY working on rather than start a new one (I'm not abandoning Spider of the Stars, I promise!), but I had the idea in my head and couldn't rest until I got it out. Depending on what people think, this could either end up being a long story, a short one, or somewhere in between. Who knows, maybe another misadventure in a different series will pop up next? As always, hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review! I really appreciate your input! Till next time! Dark Novelist out.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: New Course of Action**

* * *

Stepping out from the tomb of the great lord, the Dragonslayer and Executioner were immediately assaulted by an unseen force. Howling in pain, both of the golden warriors soon found themselves reduced to the size of mere humans, their weapons also adjusting accordingly. Panting as the ordeal finally came to an end, Ornstein staggered to his feet, leaning upon his spear for support. The Executioner growled in rage as he hefted himself to his knees.

"Now what devilry has been worked upon us?!" he shouted.

Catching his breath, the Dragonslayer racked his mind for the answer to this sudden development. Given recent events, especially what they had just done, the most logical explanation became all too apparent.

"Gwyndolin…" he hissed through grit teeth.

"What?"

"The Dark Sun…so this is the 'eternal curse' that he spoke of. Making us into humans…"

The Dragonslayer looked to his spear. Recovered enough to move again, he thrust the weapon forward, loosing a bolt of lightning just as mighty as before he had been placed into this state.

"Hmph. It seems that despite this curse, our powers haven't dwindled much. We will just have to be more careful from here on."

Spurred on by his still smaller friend's actions, Smough attempted to lift his still quite large hammer. To his surprise and great joy, the massive weapon rose with as much ease as before. Human or not, his strength had yet to fail him.

"It would seem so, my friend." The Executioner spoke as he hefted the hammer onto his shoulder.

Once both of the golden warriors had regained their strength, they made their way back to the chamber of what they had once believed to be their princess. Wanting to put his hammer to use and vent his anger at being reduced to a human form, the Executioner spoke to his companion.

"Well, we've taken vengeance upon the Dark Sun. What do we do next? Who do we kill next?"

"Patience." The Dragonslayer replied sternly. "What we have done has disrupted the age long cycle that has dominated our world. The Chosen Undead has likely yet to begin their journey, where we have already progressed the cycle to the time after what would have been our defeat."

Ornstein bent down on a knee to observe the Lordvessel, which lay just where the false image of Gwynevere had placed it. The large bowl like object radiated a mysterious power, even then. Hoping to get a better view as well, Smough knelt beside his companion, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Normally," Ornstein began, "The Chosen Undead would acquire this after our defeat, and use it to progress the cycle towards the next step. But…I fear I do not know how this thing is used-"

The Dragonslayer's speech was cut short as upon touching the Lordvessel, a surge of strange magic flowed through him and the Executioner. Before either could comprehend what was happening, the darkened chamber around them was soon replaced by a lush, green, and sunlit ruin. Slowly recovering from the rush of teleportation, the golden pair looked around at their new surroundings. There were ruins all about them, an ancient looking bonfire lit a few feet away, a hill leading up to a bridge close by, a path leading somewhere downhill, a short trail into something resembling a shrine, and to their left sat a rather depressed looking knight. The crestfallen man looked up from his perch and stared at the two out of place warriors.

"Well now…" the man said. "What's all this about? How'd you two get there?"

The Dragonslayer and Executioner looked at each other, mentally exchanging glances. Sighing, Ornstein turned toward the man.

"I'm afraid we're not entirely sure, good sir." was his honest reply.

The crestfallen knight didn't seem wholly satisfied with the answer, but appeared to be too sullen to really care as he returned to his slumping posture.

"Well, whatever you did, maybe it had something to do with that foul beast that sprang up from the shrine not too long ago. If it didn't, maybe it'll be worth talking to. If you can stand its horrid breath, that is."

The Dragonslayer nodded in confused acknowledgment at the man. It didn't exactly help explain the situation, but if this beast the man mentioned appeared around the time he and the Executioner had felled Gwyndolin, then it was entirely possible the two were connected. Instructing Smough to carry the Lordvessel on the end of his hammer-for fear of teleporting unintentionally again-the Dragonslayer and his companion strode toward the shrine in the middle of the main ruins. Sure enough, there was indeed creature in the shrine. A great serpent like beast that rose from somewhere deep below the shrine, with an almost human like face complete with moustache like appendages hanging from the uppermost portions of its mouth. The serpent's large red eyes almost seemed to widen in shock at the sight of the golden pair approaching it, and it drew in a deep breath as it gasped.

"W-What is this?! The Dragonslayer and the Executioner? Here? And with the Lordvessel in hand no less! What is going on?!" it said in a low masculine voice.

Ornstein stepped forth, his glare just as angry and fierce as that of the lion visage he wore.

"Who are you, strange beast? How is it you know of us and the Lordvessel?" he demanded.

The serpent clacked its teeth a few times as it contemplated an answer.

"….I am Kingseeker Frampt, guide to the Chosen Undead, and friend of Lord Gwyn, your master. I await the one who would link the fire, and relieve Lord Gwyn of his curse so that the age of fire might continue still, and stop the coming dark." The now named Frampt answered.

"So…you are the one who instructs the Chosen Undead to seek the Lordvessel." The Dragonslayer said. "It is Lord Gwyn that is responsible for our suffering, for our endless tirade of death and resurrection! The noble lord I once served is gone now, withered away to naught but a hollow!"

"We will serve him no longer!" added in the Executioner. "I will relieve Lord Gwyn of his curse by planting his head beneath my hammer!"

Frampt seemed to clack in what could either have been annoyance or frustration, and aside from the occasional smacking of his teeth remained silent for a time, as if deep in thought. With a heavy sigh, the Kingseeker addressed the golden pair once again.

"I see there is no swaying you from your desire to rid yourselves of the lord of sunlight, that much is apparent. But, if you truly wish to end him, regardless of reason, then I shall instruct the two of you in place of the Chosen Undead."

Sensing growing hostility in the pair, Frampt quickly added

"Whether or not you decide to link the fire will be your own choice, but please consider it. For now, be still, and I will take you to where Gwyn awaits his successor."

Reluctantly, the Dragonslayer and Executioner did as asked. To their surprise, the Kingseeker opened his large maw, and swallowed the both of them. Equally surprising to them was when moments later, they were spit back out onto a bridge that connected to what appeared to be an underground altar, set before a pair of very, very large stone doors. Behind them hung an upside down Frampt, his seemingly endless neck rising somewhere back towards the surface.

"This is the Firelink Chamber, for the successor of Lord Gwyn." Frampt explained. "I apologize for our method of transport, but there was no other way possible for you at the time. Place the Lordvessel upon the altar."

Growling in annoyance, the Executioner did as instructed. No sooner had he placed the Lordvessel on its altar, than a beam of brilliant golden light erupted from it, piercing straight through the surface miles above.

"What does this mean? What did we just do?" the Dragonslayer asked, still in awe of the spectacle as the light slowly faded.

"Beyond those doors lies the kiln of the first flame, the final resting place of Lord Gwyn." The Kingseeker explained. "To open the path, first you must fill the Lordvessel with powerful souls. Scarce few possess such brilliant souls. Gravelord Nito, the Witch of Izalith, the Four Kings of New Londo, who inherited the shards of Gwyn's soul…and Lord Gwyn's former confidant, Seath-"

"-the Scaleless." Finished Ornstein, his anger rising.

The paledrake. The white dragon. The one whose overwhelming jealousy toward his brethren drove him to betray his kin during the great war so many years ago, and was rewarded with dukedom by Lord Gwyn for his actions. The Dragonslayer was more than aware of Seath. Amongst everything else he loathed about the monster, two things were most prevalent in his mind. Ornstein was a dragon slayer, and this was not only the last dragon in the world, but the only living deity that remained in Anor Londo, lost in his massive archives in the search for immortality. His hatred for the paledrake aside, the Dragonslayer understood what the Kingseeker was telling him. To reach Gwyn, first he must remove all of the other most powerful beings in Lordran from the world.

"Once we have gathered their souls…" he began. "and once the Lordvessel is satiated, then the path to Lord Gwyn will open. Correct?"

Frampt nodded as best he could from his position.

"Yes. Now that you have touched it, the Lordvessel has granted you the power to transport yourself to several of the locations in our world."

"Including Anor Londo?" inquired the Executioner, already knowing where his companion intended to go.

"Indeed."

Ornstein glanced back at his friend, who stood waiting beside him, hammer at the ready. Words weren't necessary. The golden pair knew what they needed to do, and who their first target would be. Without another word, they placed their hands upon the Lordvessel, and within moments found themselves once again in their beloved Anor Londo. Though, they did not appear where they believed they should have.

* * *

The golden pair had transported themselves to the bonfire that had once been guarded and tended to by the Dark Sun's devout servant. Not the moonlit chamber they were expecting, but it suited them just as well. They had merely a short jog to make across the nearby ramparts before the passage to the archives revealed itself. Where once a golden barrier once stood, now lay a tunnel leading directly into the archives. But merely a few steps in, the golden pair were met with their first obstacle, a heavily armored and tusked boar. Scoffing at the seemingly insignificant enemy, the Dragonslayer fired upon it with a bolt from his spear. The beast was indeed greatly harmed by the bolt, but even more enraged by it. It charged toward the pair, threatening to skewer them upon its barbed tusks. At least, it might have succeeded, had a large golden hammer not descended upon its head the moment it drew close, effectively snuffing out the beast's life. Stepping onward, the Dragonslayer and Executioner dealt with a second boar before fully entering the archives. All around were books of magic and sorcery, objects that would have been of dear value to scholarly wizards…and mad dragons. But the golden pair cared not for these things, too driven by anger and bloodlust to pay them heed as they strode forward to a waiting elevator and began to ascend. On the way up, an important detail about their prey crossed the Dragonslayer's mind.

"….Smough." he said.

"Yes, old friend?"

"I recalled something of the paledrake…something that will make our task far more difficult…"

The Executioner quizzically tilted his head toward his companion.

"What would that be?"

Ornstein tightened the grip upon his spear as frustration mounted within him.

"Seath the Scaleless is an undead…in other words…

…he is immortal."

* * *

 **To Be Continued…**

* * *

 **A/N: I'm really sorry this took so long to get out. I hope this will tide you all over until the next one. As always, I hope you enjoyed and don't forget to leave a review! Till next time! Dark Novelist out.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Paledrake**

* * *

Seath the Scaleless. A mad, pale dragon who did not possess that which all other dragons did…the scales of immortality. In his overwhelming jealousy toward his brethren, Seath had betrayed and aided Lord Gwyn in their destruction. For his actions, the paledrake was granted dukedom, and was left free to pursue his own means of reaching immortality in his massive archives. Somehow, as years had passed, Seath succeeded in his goal, and became a true undead. Any injury that fell upon his colorless hide would close moments after, rendering him immortal, if not totally invincible. The Dragonslayer and Executioner knew all this, yes, but the secret to their prey's immortality remained a mystery. Even with all their might as the former guardians of Anor Londo, the golden duo would not be able to destroy Seath without first removing that which made him immortal. As the elevator they rode on continued to carry them upward, they pondered on this.

"Is it a spell of some kind that protects him?" Smough inquired. Limited in thought though he was, the Executioner was aware of the existence of sorcery. Seath was its progenitor, after all.

Ornstein shook his head in response.

"No. I have heard and born witness to great magics, but no miracle, no sorcery, not even one of those chaotic pyromancies could grant one true immortality. There must be something else…something we're overlooking…" he said.

As the Dragonslayer wracked his brain for what could allow him and his partner victory over Seath, the elevator reached its destination, finally stopping at a floor high above the previous one. Almost immediately, opposition presented itself in the form of a handful of hollows brandishing swords and bows. However, the golden pair quickly realized that these were no ordinary hollows. Their skin had all turned to a deep and brilliant blue, complete with strange crystal growth across various parts of their flesh and even stretching onto their swords and shields. Unsettled, but not undeterred by the sight Smough lumbered forward and brought his great hammer down on the nearest hollow, aiming to crush it in an instant. To his surprise, the emaciated undead managed to completely halt the blow of his massive weapon…though only for that first blow. The one that followed crumpled the hollow's shield arm into his body and crushed him against the nearest wall. Momentarily distracted by the surprising show of strength from his enemy, the Executioner failed to notice the bolt of magic surging through the air toward him until it struck his shoulder.

"What the devil?!" he shouted as he wheeled around, hammer at the ready.

Staring at Smough through a six-eyed visor in the room directly behind the one he stood in now was none other than one of the infamous Channelers, servants of the paledrake that traveled Lordran in search of undead like the ones assailing them at the moment to be used in experiments. The tall humanoid held a golden trident in its right hand, which it then brought to the center of its body to be joined in its other hand as it began to chant another spell. Gritting teeth behind his contrastingly pleased looking mask, Smough tried to hurry as much as he could to crush the rest of the hollows between him and the Channeler, knowing that the caster probably had much more painful spells in its arsenal. As he struggled, the Dragonslayer leapt past him, skewering one of the crystalized hollows with ease. Ornstein took but a second to realize the creatures seemed especially vulnerable to his weapon before attacking the next in his path.

"Smough!" he shouted. "I will clear a path, destroy that sorcerer!"

What was once a grimace became the matching expression of the Executioner's mask as he heard this.

"Gladly."

Ignoring everything but the Channeler dead ahead of him, Smough rose his great hammer in a defensive position and charged. Another spell, this one stronger than the last, soared at him. The Executioner grunted as the impact of the soul arrow washed over his hammer, but kept charging nonetheless. Realizing it had no time to incant another spell, the Channeler shifted its stance and held its trident at the ready, the tri-pointed tips beginning to rotate as though preparing to bore through the golden behemoth charging at it. Alas, such actions were utterly futile in the wake of an enraged man with a hammer as big as his own body, especially when said hammer caved in the sorcerer's helm so that only the flat brim atop it sat where its head should have been. Chuckling wickedly to himself, Smough then picked up the trident and hurled it into a hollow standing atop the flight of stairs that indicated the way forward, pinning it to a bookshelf as it died. Soon enough, he and Ornstein had cleared the rooms of enemies, allowing them some actual time to think.

"Wait…do you hear that?" the Dragonslayer stated.

Now that all the fighting had died down, there was a faint moaning of sorts coming from the top of the next elevator upwards. Upon listening further, the golden duo also picked up sounds of something massive sliding around up above.

"Seath?" Smough questioned.

Orsntein nodded.

"Without a doubt. It'd be folly to face him as we are. Now that we have a few moments, let's see if we can't find something that could point us to the secret of his immortality."

His partner grunted in agreement, and began looking about the large room, scanning for anything that might be of use. While the Executioner did so, Ornstein seated himself upon the steps that led forward, going into thought. The Dragonslayer tried to recall everything he knew about the paledrake, going as far back as the great war with the beast's kin. Seath was obsessed with achieving that which he was born without, and surely there had to be more to the immortality of his race than their scales. Ornstein himself had earned his title for his efficiency in removing them, after all. He thought of the aftermath, of the talks between Seath and Lord Gwyn. The Dragonslayer then recalled talk of a treasure, an item of some sort that the paledrake had taken from his kin. Surely, that was the key to uncovering his immortality. Ornstein wracked his brain for any possibility of what such a treasure could be, what the dragons would have coveted, what would have given Seath that which he desired. His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of an arrow being notched not too far from him. The Dragonslayer quickly grabbed his spear, turned, and thrust a bolt of lightning at the source of the sound. A hollow, crystalline like the others, fell upon being struck, dropping down on to the stairs and landing in a heap at Ornstein's feet.

"You're lucky that these beasts are so weak to your lightning." Smough commented as he approached, having heard the discharge.

"If not for that weakness, and our great might, these crystal fiends would be next to unstoppable."

Ornstein was about to reply, when something his partner said stuck out. The crystalline aspect made them strong, difficult to damage. A substance that was powerful. Something rare. Something treasured.

"A crystal…" the Dragonslayer whispered.

"What?"

"It's a crystal. That bastard has a crystal of some sort stolen from his brethren. That's what is keeping him immortal!"

The Executioner took a moment to process this. It certainly made sense, and would coincide with the rumored experiments that produced the sort of hollows they had been fighting. If such experiments made meager creatures like hollows able to stand up to his hammer, then a crystal coveted by the dragons would undoubtedly bestow great gifts upon the paledrake. Smough nodded in agreement.

"Very well. A crystal it is. But where would he hide such a thing? Surely not here, not in a place where any simpleton with enough toughness could find it?"

The Dragonslayer nodded and resumed his thinking. The Executioner had a point, a treasure like the one they were searching for could not have been in an easily accessible location. At the same time, in all his madness the paledrake probably kept somewhere not too far away from the archives, someplace he could easily guard it. Ornstein walked toward a nearby balcony as he continued to think, and looked out at what lay beyond the walls of the archives. In the distance, easily within a brisk walk of the end of the archives, rose enormous crystal spires out of the earth.

"Well…that looks as like a place as any." He stated, waving over his partner.

Smough stepped forward and looked at what his friend had found. Again, he found himself agreeing that Ornstein had passed sound judgement.

"It looks as though we might reach that place simply by traversing the rest of this accursed place."

"Indeed."

A destination now in mind, the golden duo proceeded to make their way through the archives. At every turn they were met with crystalline hollows and Channelers, but the Dragonslayer and Executioner pressed on nonetheless. Eventually, after the usage of several oddly placed levers, they found themselves exiting the archives and onto a short hill leading downward into a gargantuan cavern formed completely out of crystals, out of which grew the spires they had spotted earlier from the balcony. A handful of fierce crystal golems obstructed their path, but only until Smough chose to use one of them as though it were a boulder to roll into the rest, knocking them over and making most easy kills. The two that recovered traded blows with the duo, but were ultimately struck down. Pausing to rest after the encounter, Ornstein and Smough then proceeded down into the cavern. Inside, they were besieged by fewer, though much stronger golems. As they fought the beasts, the golden pair took care not to disturb the large butterflies strewn about the cavern, knowing that the creatures would undoubtedly fly out of reach, right over the massive gaps between the haphazard crystal bridges. For a moment, they were forced to stop at the base of a crystal and try to locate a means of crossing to the next. However, upon noticing that the dust falling from the ceiling kept halting at something solid and unseen, an invisible bridge, they were on their way once again. Across a few more gaps, and after battling through a small army of bizarre clam-like monsters, the golden pair found themselves in a gigantic chamber, at the very back of which sat a thin flower like crystal whose brilliance outshone that of every other around it.

"That looks to be of great import. Likely our goal." The Executioner commented.

The Dragonslayer was about to reply, when the entire cavern began to shake, and a booming roar resounded through its crystalline walls. The golden pair turned from the Primordial Crystal to face none other than the paledrake himself. Seath the Scaleless now stood before them, his massive frame almost touching the roof of the chamber as he slithered toward them, snarling with rage. Had the dragon any eyes, there was no doubt that they would have been flushed red with anger at the two intruders who now threatened his most well guarded secret. Shimmering luminescent wings spread out behind the paledrake as he drew in a deep breath, just before unleashing a blast of white magic from his maw, crystals laden with curse rising everywhere the pale beam struck. The golden duo each dodged in a different direction, allowing the beam to pass harmlessly between them….and strike the Primordial Crystal with full force. The very thing Seath had tried so dearly to protect shattered as if it were glass under the pressure of his own terrible magic. Upon the treasure's destruction, the paledrake recoiled, seeming to writhe in pain as it thrashed about in a frenzy. Taking notice of this, the Dragonslayer stood and loosed a bolt of lightning at the dragon. The golden light struck Seath's crystal laden hide, breaking off one of the smaller crystal growths. It did not reform.

"It seems you have lost your 'immortality', paledrake." Ornstein said with a snarl. He then rose his spear and directed it at the dragon's head.

"Long have you been just out of my reach, protected by the good will of my former Lord Gwyn. No more! This day, I will act as I should have long ago…and erased your accursed existence from this world! Prepare yourself, dragon! This day you die!"

With a wrath fueled cry, the Dragonslayer leapt forth, stabbing at the bulbous crystal growth at the base of the creature's body. The Executioner couldn't help but marvel at the sight of his friend in a fit of normally unseen ferocity, stabbing the paldrake and blasting it with golden lightning whilst still dodging swipes from the dragon's claws and the occasional blast of white dragon breath. With a smile, that matched that on his mask, Smough charged forward and joined in the clash, pounding away at the crystal growth and swiping tails of Seath's lower body as Ornstein slowly ascended toward the paledrake's head. All the while, Seath bellowed and thrashed about in pain, never before having been subjected to such great torture, not even at the hands of the countless Chosen Undead who had felled him in cycles long past. Desperately, the paledrake called forth as much of his twisted magic as he could, and unleashed a deafening roar as curse laden crystals began to fill the chamber, forcing the Executioner to retreat. Unfortunately for Seath, this did nothing but slow the ascent of the Dragonslayer clinging tightly to his long neck. Mustering up all his strength to not be thrown off by the roar, Ornstein continued to climb, until at last he reached the crown of the paledrake's head. Shifting his spear for the strongest possible blow, the Dragonslayer let out a cry of fury before plunging the lightning infused blade into Seath's skull. The dragon roared and bellowed, flailing wildly in an attempt to throw off his assailant as he felt thrust after thrust be plunged into his skull, magical blood seeping from the wound. Finally, after another powerful thrust the paledrake stilled. His limbs became limp, the wings on his back dimmed and drooped lifelessly, and the dragon lurched forward, collapsing. Ornstein panted as his rage slowly subsided, and removed himself from atop the paledrake's head as his body dissolved into nothingness.

At long last, Seath the Scaleless was no more.

The first of the four great souls was now theirs.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope this was worth the wait for all of you. I tried to make it a good fight, since Seath is one of my favorite bosses in the series. Now, I'd like to make a quick announcement: I'm going to have to wait a bit before I do the next chapter.**

 **The reason for this is because I am also working on Spider of the Stars, and despite the very low viewer count, I want to finish that story. So I'll be doing another chapter of that before I do chapter 4 of Big Lordran Adventure. However, do not think this means I'm giving up on this story, because I'm not.**

 **So, as always, hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review! Till next time! Dark Novelist out.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Unexpected Diversion**

* * *

Standing over where the paledrake's bloodied skull once sat, the Dragonslayer caught his breath after the short but fierce battle with Seath the Scaleless. Nearby, the Executioner watched as a bonfire materialized from thin air in the spot previously occupied by the Primordial Crystal. Likely, if they retained the power to travel between bonfires as they had done earlier, this was meant to be their way out. Shortly, the Dragonslayer finished with his recovery and instead reached for something at his side, pulling up a strange broken pendant. He had found the bauble during the fiasco at the entrance to the archives, hanging from a golem. Back then, for reasons he could not explain, Ornstein felt compelled to grab the locket after slaying the golem. Unsure of what to make of it, and with bigger matters at hand, he had withheld the information from his large friend. It was not an intricate little trinket, and the Dragonslayer cared little of prizes such as these, but even still he had taken it. But why? What purpose would such a thing serve?

"Well, now that you have slain the world's last dragon, where shall we head next?" the Executioner mused from behind him.

Hearing his friend speak brought Ornstein back to his senses. Putting the pendant away again, he turned to address his companion.

"Loathe as I am to admit it, we'll need the Kingseeker's guidance. The world outside Anor Londo has changed a great deal since last we ventured forth, I doubt we will get far without a sense of direction." The Dragonslayer replied.

Smough nodded in agreement.

"Then let us be on our way."

With that, the golden pair placed their hands upon the sword embedded within the bonfire, and in moments were whisked away from the paledrake's lair.

* * *

Shortly, the duo found themselves back at the ruins where they had first encountered the Kingseeker, the crestfallen man still seated there, still as sullen as before.

"It looks to me like you two have made quite a fuss." The man groaned. "That revolting beast has been muttering non-stop ever since you left. It's irritating and now the shrine smells worse than ever from all the foul odor it's spewing."

The golden pair nodded in acknowledgment of the man, but paid little heed to his words. As far as they cared, whatever misfortune Frampt's breath was causing would cease the moment they finished their vengeful quest. Making their way over to the Kingseeker, the duo found him in a state just as the crestfallen man had said, muttering to himself rapidly in a worried tone. Before they could chance to eavesdrop on his rantings, Frampt took notice of the golden pair and turned to address them.

"A-Ah, so you've returned, and with the soul of Seath the Scaleless. Well done indeed." The Kingseeker began.

"The paledrake is no more. Where is the next mighty soul?" the Executioner demanded.

Frampt clacked his large teeth as he processed a reply.

"From where we stand, Firelink Shrine, the remaining great souls all lie below us. Gravelord Nito dwells in the catacombs beyond the graveyard, the Four Kings remain entombed in the ruins of New Londo below us, and deeper still lies the Witch of Izalith."

The golden pair thought for a moment. They had initially chosen to deal with Seath due to the long standing grudge of the Dragonslayer toward the paledrake's kin, it had been a clear choice. But the remaining three were not so. They knew of the Gravelord and the Witch, had fought alongside the in the war against the dragons, but bore no deep hatred towards them beyond revulsion towards their practices. New Londo, the home of the Four Kings, was a bit more meaningful. The city was lost, the duo had heard, drowned beneath a tide of water in an attempt to seal away something terrible growing within. The tragedy of New Londo was still somewhat shrouded in mystery, and if they were to destroy what remained of its rulers in order to succeed in their quest, then perhaps it'd be best to solve two problems at once.

"We go to New Londo, then." The Dragonslayer declared.

The Executioner sounded his agreement with a grunt as he hefted his hammer to its resting place on his shoulder. Decided, the golden pair made their way to the crumbling staircase that wound down from Firelink Shrine, to an elevator that sat waiting within an alcove. Without a moment's hesitation, the duo stepped on to the ancient looking platform, and began their decent.

* * *

Soon enough, they arrived at the darkened remains of a once great city, the ruins of New Londo. All about them, darkness lingered, the massive cavern housing the ruins lit only by eerie blue lights within the city. From where the duo stood at the entrance, a handful of hollows hung about in various states of madness some seemed to be praying at large pots, some simply lounging about, one even trapped inside a pot but too far gone to even think of getting free. The hollows paid the golden pair no mind as they headed toward the less than stable looking wooden planks that led into the city. Surprisingly, the old wood was able to support the weight of the two fully armored warriors, and delivered them safely to the other side. Once there, however, they came across a ghastly sight. A pair of spectral beings, transparent and floating, rose from the waters of the ruined city, faces skeletal and empty and brandishing jagged blades as they turned their blank stares toward the duo. Of course, ghosts were not the most unusual of monstrosities the golden pair had faced and they would likely not be the last. With that thought in mind, the Executioner stepped forward to dispose of the apparitions with one swing of his hammer. Alas, the instrument of death passed clean through the approaching ghosts, doing nothing to halt their advance, much less harm them. Desperately, the Dragonslayer shot off a bolt of lightning at their attackers, only to find that too was wholly ineffective.

"It's no use! We cannot harm those who are already dead!" Ornstein exclaimed.

Frustrated, the duo decided not to test if the ghosts were equally as incapable of harming their opponents, and quickly dodged as the limbs of the specters stretched far beyond human limits to slash their knives, scraping against the stones of the ruins. However, the momentary escape from danger presented a new problem with the apparitions now blocking the way the duo had entered. Forced to back away lest they be carved to pieces by the ghosts, the golden pair moved deeper into the ruins, stopping at a stairway with a few pots seated beside it. Furious at his inability to harm his enemies, the Executioner took out his rage on the objects, satisfied that at least those were still breakable.

"Smough, calm yourself!" the Dragonslayer shouted, backing against his friend as the ghosts closed in on them once again.

Uncaring for his friend's words in his fit of rage, the Executioner stepped forward and, though he knew it was likely useless, swung his hammer once again at the specters. Just before his blow met the ghosts, Smough felt a strange tingling spread throughout his body upon stepping forward, and in the next instant his hammer had turned the specters into dust. Confused as to why he had succeeded, the Executioner then realized that something lay beneath his foot. Looking down, he saw a shriveled, pale hand that emitted a slight glow much like the ghosts under his boot, spreading the glow to his entire body. The Dragonslayer observed this, and looked over to see a second shriveled hand laying within the shattered remains of the pots his friend had smashed in his anger. Gradually, understanding dawned upon him.

"I see…whatever magic lies within those limbs, it is likely the same as that which afflicts those who haunt this place." He said, kneeling to retrieve the second hand.

"As long as we have these, we can fight back the dead."

The Executioner picked up the hand from under his boot and looked it over. Aside from the faint glow, he noticed that the hand was rapidly decomposing, and likely would fall to pieces shortly. He dreaded what sort of trouble they'd be in if that were to happen when they needed this most.

"It seems that they will not last for long, we had best hurry." Smough stated, pointing out the decay on his friend's cursed hand.

Without further delay, the duo continued to advance through the ruins of New Londo, now able to retaliate against its long dead residents. Eventually they found themselves within the confines of what might have once been a church, and after a particularly hectic encounter with over a dozen ghosts found a ladder leading upward. Much too big even as a human to fit in the narrow space and tired from constant battle, the Executioner chose to rest while the Dragonslayer climbed upward, hoping to find a way out of the ruins. At the top of the ladder, on the roof of the church he found a man garbed in red robes, standing watch with a catalyst for sorceries in his hand. Strangely, he seemed undisturbed by the ghosts, something which put the Dragonslayer on alert as he made his way over to the man.

"Well well, this is quite the sight. To think that the Dragonslayer himself would come to this dreary place." The man spoke, turning to face Ornstein with a masked face.

"I am Ingward, Keeper of the Seal. I stand guard here over the abyss, so that its evil may never escape this place."

The Dragonslayer paused at this. He was surprised to know that anyone not clearly associated with his kingdom would recognize him, and disturbed by the man's reasoning for being here.

"The….Abyss? It is still here?" he asked.

Ingward nodded.

"Down there, in the deepest part of these ruins resides the Four Kings, guarded closely by their loathsome Darkwraiths. The kings and their knights were seduced by the power of the wretched abyss, and were granted the art of lifedrain. To prevent this evil from escaping into the world, the city of New Londo was flooded, so that they may never leave this place. We Keepers have kept watch over them all these years to ensure things stay this way."

Ornstein nodded slowly in grim understanding. He had heard of the terrible power the art of lifedrain possessed, and of an abomination the gods had once sealed away to protect themselves from it. To think that it would reemerge here, dangerously close to his home, was terrifying. But this was not his only cause for concern. The mention of the abyss brought forth memories of a dear friend, one of his fellow knights who had set out to conquer it. Artorias, the Abysswalker. It had been ages since he had seen him or any of Gwyn's other greatest knights, never once had any of them made an appearance throughout the cycles. If the abyss was here, and had grown this strong, then had that meant his friend had failed in his mission? It was difficult to believe.

"…Artorias, my good friend once did battle with these creatures. I know not how he was able to overcome them." Ornstein said after a time.

Ingward hummed in acknowledgement.

"If you are here, then may I assume that you have come to destroy the Four Kings?" he asked.

"Yes, I have."

"I see. Then I must warn you that if you go in as you are, then you will perish before you can even swing your spear. Unless, you discover how Artorias was able to overcome the darkness of the abyss, then you may stand a chance. I know not where the knight is, only where he is said to be buried. It is in a grove not far from here, through those doors and up a hidden path."

The Keeper pointed to an enormous set of doors that set on the end of the cavern, not too far from where they stood.

"It is through there. If you drain the waters of this dead city, you will be able to reach the grove. However, this will also allow release the Darkwraiths. I do not know if they will set out from this place while their masters remain trapped below, but the danger is still very real."

As the Dragonslayer processed this, Ingward reached into his robes and produced a small key.

"This is the key to the seal. Noble Dragonslayer, if you can promise me that you will put an end to these creatures and the Four Kings, then I will leave our fate in your hands."

The weight of such a responsibility was not lost upon Ornstein, and he hesitated as he looked at the key. Artorias would have done everything in his power to stop the abyss, and if he was truly gone, then the task fell to another. It might as well be carried out by a friend. With a heavy sigh, and a clear mind, the Dragonslayer took the key.

"You have my word, Keeper Ingward, that I will undertake the mantle of Artorias, and see to it that this evil does not destroy our world." He said at last.

Ingward chuckled lightly at this.

"Well spoken, noble Dragonslayer. Ah, something else before you go."

The Keeper then turned to a sac laying nearby him, and from it produced four more cursed hands.

"If you made it this far, your temporary curse is likely run dry. This should be enough to deal with any others that might obstruct your path."

Ornstein thanked the Keeper for all he had shared, and descended back down the ladder to his companion. After explaining the situation to Smough, the Executioner found himself agreeing that it would be right to take this course of action. A knight he may not be, but even a brute such as the Executioner could not bring himself to disrespect a hero such as the Abysswalker. Without further delay, the golden pair each took a new cursed hand to see them through the rest of the path to seal. Stepping forward after unlocking the gate to the valve that would release the waters from the city, the Dragonslayer found himself hesitating. The pressure of potentially releasing such an evil as the abyss upon the world was staggering, to say the least. Perhaps sensing his unease, or merely wanting to hurry along, the Executioner stepped past his companion and laid his hands upon the valve. With considerable effort even for one as strong as himself, he eventually managed to turn it. A great trembling rang throughout the cave as the massive doors creaked open, spewing forth the waters of New Londo in a great wave onto the outside world. In moments, the flooded city was free of its watery confines, and sunlight shone into the ruins from beyond the great doors.

* * *

After making their way down to the bottom of the doors, the duo found themselves looking out at weathered bridge connecting the ruins to a nearby cliff face, soaked from the flood moments ago. Strangely, claw marks and jagged scrapes lined the edges of the bridge and part of the cliff edges. Perhaps the space before them had previously been occupied by some gang of roaming beasts, who were caught in the sudden torrent and washed away? It mattered not to the golden pair as they carefully crossed the bridge and inspected remnants of a tower on the other side. Sure enough, hidden away by years of erosion, there sat an elevator similar to the one that had delivered them to the ruins. On reaching the top they were greeted by a small cave, with a bonfire strangely seated at its center. Stopping to rest for a moment, the duo then continued until they emerged from the cave into a dimly lit wood. The sound of rushing water could be heard nearby, and with no clear indication of where the grave of their fellow knight could be the duo approached it. Not long down the path leading towards the sound, another fearsome sight awaited them.

"Well, isn't that an unsightly beast?" the Executioner japed.

In a lake at the base of a waterfall resided a massive nine headed hydra, its wriggling mass contained within a giant shell. While the duo were contemplating whether such a thing was obstructing their path to Artorias's grave, the beast seemed to catch sight of them, as it suddenly reeled back all of its heads. A moment later, the heads surged back forward, spitting sharp jets of condensed watery missiles at the golden pair, forcing them to take cover. Now clear that they weren't about to get anywhere so long as the hydra was alive, they began to steadily advance on the creature, dodging its missiles as they went. The closer the duo got, the more the Dragonslayer began to feel a strange prickling from his side. Chancing a moment between barrages of missiles, he looked to see the pendant at his side vibrating with growing intensity. However, before Ornstein could think further on the matter he was forced to dodge another barrage. He would investigate the mysterious pendant after the hydra was slain. Finally, the Dragonslayer and Executioner made it to the beach and just before the multi-headed monster. At close range the hydra proved to be somewhat less of a threat, for despite making use of its many heads to try and pummel or bite the duo in a massive barrage of flailing limbs, it was quite slow to recover. After enough blows, it lost its heads one by one until only a bleeding and lifeless shell with nine limp tails remained. With the threat at last removed, the Dragonslayer once again turned his attention to the pendant, now vibrating wildly in his grasp.

"What is that?" inquired the Executioner, seeing the trinket for the first time.

"I found this hanging from a crystal golem back at the archives. I do not know why, but some force compelled me to take it. It wasn't important at the time, so I said nothing. But now it seems that whatever urged me to grab this blasted thing is close." Ornstein answered.

"Could it not be dangerous? Why not throw it away?"

The Executioner pointed to a nearby cave.

"That looks as good a place as any. Let its owner look for it in there, and be rid of the thing."

The Dragonslayer supposed his companion had a point. Quickly, the duo strode over to the cave to deposit the pendant, only for it to intensify in its shaking, now even emitting a faint red glow. What was more, at the back of the cave stood a swirling black vortex, which widened as if in reaction to the pendant the closer they drew. Alarmed, the Dragonslayer made to throw the pendant aside, but it was too late. A massive, hairy, darkness covered black arm with a hand whose appendages looked laden with molars erupted from the black vortex and seized hold of the Dragonslayer.

"ORNSTEIN!" the Executioner cried out.

The monstrous limb then withdrew into the vortex, taking the pendant and the one holding it along with it.

Dragonslayer Ornstein had vanished.

* * *

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed. Please be sure to review! Till next time! Dark Novelist out.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Divided**

* * *

When Ornstein finally came to his senses, he found himself in a cramped cave overladen with twisting roots. Were he still his old self, and not in a human form, he likely wouldn't have fit. But that was beside the point, the fact that he was still alive after being pulled into this place by that monstrous hand, if it could even be called as such, was a miracle in of itself. Standing up, Ornstein looked around and found that he was, as he had suspected, entirely alone. Smough had not been pulled through the vortex alongside him, a thought both comforting and worrying.

"He's strong, he can take care of himself. Well, as long as he doesn't do something too drastic while I look for a way back, that is." The Dragonslayer thought aloud.

Sighing in resignation, Ornstein decided that he wouldn't be doing himself or his likely worried companion any favors by just standing around, and began to walk towards the entrance of the cave. Once there, the familiar sight of a white wall of fog met him. Having been behind such a barrier innumerable times himself, whatever lay on the other side probably wasn't very friendly. Tightening his grip on his spear, the Ornstein stepped through the fog. Immediately, a grotesque beast seated within a large circular pond roared at him in anger. The creature was a nightmarish chimera that held the body of a white lion, large ram like horns, four angelic wings, the hind quarters of some hairless beast, and the tail of a scorpion. Through wrathful red eyes the chimera glared at the intruder before ramming straight for him. Surprised at the beast's speed, Ornstein only barely managed to evade it, retaliating with a swift stab at the chimera's side. Growling in pain, the beast took to the air, turning mid-flight to expel a ball of electricity from its mouth. Though Ornstein dodged the initial ball, shockwaves from the blast traveled along the pond's surface, surging into him. But of course, to wield lightning against the captain of Gwyn's knights was utter folly, and it did little more than give a slight jolt.

"Lightning? Foolishness. The simplest of clerics could conjure up something like that. Allow me to show you true lightning!" Ornstein growled.

To follow through on his words, the Dragonslayer channeled his own golden electricity into his spear as the chimera made to charge him again. Unaware of what was coming, the beast simply charged forward, seeing its horns about to strike the intruder. But instead of metal being crushed and tossed about, there came only the sound of steel piercing flesh, followed by a crack of thunder as lightning blasted into the chimera's brain, finishing off whatever the spear tip running through it had missed. The beast fell dead where it stood, allowing Ornstein to retrieve his weapon from the mound of singed fur it had been planted in. Moments later, the chimera dissolved away, and so too did the fog covering the exit to the pond. Pressing onward, Ornstein soon found himself in a clearing dotted by odd statues, perhaps a sanctuary of sorts. There was nothing of great significance in sight, except perhaps for what appeared to be a sentient mushroom with eyes, staring blankly at him from its seat on the wall of the sanctuary. It did not appear to be hostile, nor capable of leaving its spot for that matter. Since it wouldn't harm him, Ornstein chose to leave the strange being be, and instead pressed onward. Out of the other end of the sanctuary, he found himself once again facing a deep wood, eerily familiar.

"Strange…it almost feels as if I were here before." He muttered to himself.

As if to further prove his words, upon walking onto a bridge connecting the wood to the sanctuary he looked out at the distance. Down below sat a basin nearly identical to that in which he and Smough slew the hydra, the only difference being the time of day. Furthermore, upon looking up and over the wood ahead of him Ornstein could just barely make out what looked like the outer walls of Anor Londo, seated high above an immense mountain.

"Where in the world am I?"

The Dragonslayer's thoughts were interrupted by the rapid crunching of leaves and twigs nearby, signaling an approach. Turning, he caught sight of a pair of what looked to be living twigs adorned in yellow gardening attire, complete with the pitchforks they brandished as makeshift weapons. Clumsily, the pair of gardeners poked and leapt at Ornstein, hoping to skewer him. He deflected one and evaded the other, then swung at the both of them. The gardeners went stock still for a moment, then both fell in half. Whatever held these strange creatures were, they were clearly not meant to be used for battle. Stepping over the gardeners, Ornstein continued into the wood, quickly spotting more of the living twigs tending the soil, some even wielding oversized shears and clipping away at trees. What gave him pause, however, was that every so often the gardeners were accompanied by a behemoth that appeared to be comprised entirely of stone, always carrying a likewise massive axe that looked hewn from the earth, much like the inhabitants. Getting too close to one, Ornstein had discovered they were just as swift as they were large, narrowly dodging their savage and fast blows. To most, a spear would have made for poor choice against stone, but for the Dragonslayer who had peeled apart stone scales countless times with his weapon, it was an easier task, though not without difficulty. Finally bringing the behemoth down, Ornstein continued to make his way through the wood, finding disturbing dark blue growths creeping up from crevices as he went, the strange substance seemingly increasing in intensity at what looked to be a coliseum a short distance away from the wood.

"Well, in any case, that will make a good place to rest."

His decision reached, Ornstein searched for a way toward the coliseum, eventually finding it in the form of an enchanted platform that took him to a lower level of the wood. A brisk walk over to the coliseum, and once again he was presented with a fog barrier. At this point, Ornstein wondered if such things were created to hold the beings behind them captive, instead of just serving as gateway into a harsh trial. Regardless of the fog barrier's purpose, it was standing between the Dragonsalyer and a much needed rest. Bracing himself for whatever stood behind the barrier, he stepped forward.

But nothing could have prepared him for what lay beyond.

"Ar…Artorias…?!"

* * *

Separated from his only friend, Smough sat for a time in the flooded cave. He hoped that at any moment, the vortex would open again and bring back the Dragonslayer, or at the very least allow the Executioner to follow. Hours passed as he waited, silently praying that he would see his companion again soon. Admittedly, Smough was lost without Ornstein's guidance, capable only of rampaging indiscriminately, smashing about all that moved. But such behavior was unbecoming, and surely even as traitors to Lord Gwyn his lost companion would frown upon him acting in such a manner.

"He also probably would not want me to simply lay here like a love struck maiden awaiting her champion's return." The Executioner mused with a heavy sigh.

If the vortex were going to reopen, then it probably would have by now. As much as it pained him, Smough knew that Ornstein was a fully capable warrior that could hold his own in the worst of situations. Why else would he have been made the captain of the four knights? He trusted that in good time, the Dragonslayer would find his way back. Until then, Smough would do what he could to make their quest easier. Artorias's grave had to be in this dark wood somewhere, else they would not have come. His mind made up, he picked up his giant hammer and began marching up a steep slope leading deeper into the wood. Not long after reaching the top of the hill, the path split into two different directions. A glance upward showed that left likely led to a large building, an exit from the woods. While it was good to remember for a later occasion, that left right as the only forward. Scarcely more than 10 paces onto the path, and an obstacle in the form of seemed to be a sentient bush with arms and legs. The strange shrub ran towards him, drew back its spindly arms, then flung them toward Smough, extending them into vines to lash him. It wasn't very effective, when the target of the lashings was covered head to toe in thick golden armor made to stand up to beasts of far greater nature. The ultimately pointless encounter ended with a very flat bush being trampled on as an obese armored man walked onward, scraping the excess greenery from his hammer.

"From specters of the dead to weeds…how dull." He groaned.

Further on, more of the shrubs attempted to halt him, and were all crushed just as thoroughly as the first one. Eventually, something not trying to kill him caused the Executioner to stop. Smough found himself at a massive door set before a passage further into the wood, the brick wall beside it crumbling off the nearby cliff side. It appeared to be sealed away by a magic of some sort, for it would not budge even when he tried to smash the thing down with his hammer. If something like this was here, then Artorias's grave must not be far off. But Smough knew little of magic, and cared naught for it. As his frustration towards the seemingly impassable door grew, he noticed that many of the bricks to the inland side of the door were loose, and didn't look to be protected by the same magic as the door itself. Calming himself, Smough then did what he did best, and brought down his giant hammer with all his might on the weathered bricks. As expected, the structure was blown to bits, even making enough of a dent in the hillside for one as large as himself to pass through, magic door be damned. Casually stepping on past his biggest obstacle yet, a few steps into new territory summoned forth yet another new obstacle. Though faint, the Executioner could make out the shapes of other humans dashing about the trees, rapidly closing in on him. Their garb and armaments were varied, among them a knight, a sorcerer, a rogue, a highwayman, and even a cleric started to circle towards him. Seeing this only caused Smough to smile just like the visage upon his helm.

Finally, a real fight.

* * *

 **A/N: Bit shorter this time, I know, but I wanted to split this up instead of focusing exclusively on just one character. Hope you enjoyed! Till next time! Dark Novelist out.**


End file.
